Jacks, Marcy - Taken by the Alpha Wolf [DeWitt's Pack 9] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (2 page)

Then that man came into the room where he’d been sleeping all

that time.

The guy froze, as though he hadn’t expected Ryan to be awake right then. Ryan was not sorry to disappoint, and he immediately jumped up from his bed, putting it between them.

Instead of being alarmed, the man smiled at him, as though he were glad that Ryan had woken up.

“Rhyan,” he said, rolling the
 
R
 
in Ryan’s name and taking a step inside. Ryan had forgotten that this man had known his name without  Ryan telling him what it was.

“It’s good to see you.”

He was feeling well enough that he wasn’t about to put up with this bullshit. “Tell me who you are, where we are, and what the fuck happened, now,” he commanded.

The guy frowned, as though he didn’t enjoy being ordered around or was confused at Ryan’s  hard response.

Tough shit.

The man stepped into the room. He was so heavy that each step he took actually caused the floorboards to groan under the strain of his weight.

“Do you not recognize me?” he asked. He still rolled his
 
R
s, but his accent wasn’t quite so heavy now.

“You’re the man who …” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he’d seen, what he’d thought he’d seen, but his almost-answer was enough for the guy.

“Perhaps it is normal for you to have no memories of us,

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considering this strange new life you live.”

What the fuck was he talking about?

“I am Blasius,” the guy said, pounding a fist over his chest like a  warrior of old. He then grinned at Ryan. “I would give you my clan  name and where I hail from, but I can hardly recall any of that.”

What? Who  was this guy? And what the hell kind of name was  Blasius? Sounded like something the man might’ve named himself.

Speaking of things that couldn’t be recalled. “Where’s my  partner? Officer Decker, the man in uniform?”

Blasius’s face fell just slightly. His  voice rumbled as he spoke, his  accent becoming heavier once more at the emotion that was there.  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but yer friend did not survive the  battle.”

He already knew that. He’d seen him lying facedown in a puddle of his own blood, the back of his head blown off. “I meant, what did

you do with his body?”

“Buried him,” Blasius said simply.

A rock had swelled into Ryan’s throat. He remembered the pain of

it, of the absolute failure he’d felt.

It should’ve been him. He should’ve been  the one to get shot while his back was turned, but no. Decker had wanted to go check out the surrounding area with the landowner, so Ryan had let him, even though he had the superior rank. He’d stayed by the car to survey the

scene.

It should have been him.

“Ah, did ye love ’im then?” Blasius had asked.

Ryan glared at him. He hadn’t loved Decker, despite their fling,  but he’d liked the other man, and he would carry the weight of his  death with him for as long as he lived.

“That’s not your fucking business.”

Blasius nodded.

For the first time, Ryan noted how his hands were now normal.

He didn’t comment on it, though.

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Blasius offered to take him out of the room, and surprised, Ryan had gotten dressed and had gone with him.

Then he’d tried to run.

That had been stupid of him. Completely and utterly fucking stupid. Of course he wouldn’t have been able to outrun these men.  They all looked to be in the best shape of their lives, and Ryan had just woken up from being shot in the stomach. He was lucky to be alive.

The men who’d chased him down hadn’t seemed too worried

about his injuries, however, as they tackled him football-style into the  ground. Ryan had tried to fight them off him, and it had taken four  men to subdue him, but subdue him they did.

They brought him  back to the house, one man barking orders to  the others to keep watch over the bedroom. Ryan was to have guards  now, it seemed.

Definitely some sort of organization, though whether it was religious or not, Ryan still couldn’t be sure.

The men did as they were told, however, until Blasius came in and started making a scene.

Another huge man with a heavily scarred face came in next, attempting to talk Blasius down, and when that didn’t work, the guy grabbed him by the neck and threw him down onto the carpet as though Blasius were a ninety-pound kid and not some hulking guy.

Ryan let them tie him down to the bed after that, not wanting the other man to get punished further for what Ryan had done. For all he knew, Blasius could be a prisoner here, too.

Then the  other man got up and offered his apologies of all things and promised to be the man who would guard Ryan carefully, making sure he never escaped.

“I’ll be dead before I let that happen,” Blasius had said, pounding his chest like before. “You can count on me.”

The fucking bastard.

The man with the scarred face just nodded, glanced down at Ryan

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on the bed, and then walked out of the room.

Ryan swore he would get out of here. He swore he was going to get backup and come back here and arrest every single one of these bastards for what they were doing to him.

Blasius had been true to his word, however. He would not let

Ryan escape, and Ryan had done everything he could think of to get the man to release him.

He’d started with complaining that he needed to use the bathroom to get his wrists and ankles untied. Blasius had untied him, and then he’d found Ryan climbing through the window in the bathroom and had pulled him back in.

Ever since then, Ryan had not been allowed to be in the washroom by himself. That humiliation was enough to get his blood boiling.

Blasius tried speaking with him, had tried making nice and being friends, bringing Ryan books to read and any small desserts he could find from inside the house.

Ryan hadn’t spoken back unless it was to ask to be  released, and always the answer was no.

He hadn’t been put in the cage until he’d tried fighting Blasius.  They’d gone to fists over it, and two more men needed to rush into the room just to pry him off the other man.

It was Blasius’s own fault anyway for kissing him like that. Ryan had been behaving himself, as much as any hostage was expected to, completely ignoring his captor and wondering why in the hell this had to happen to him on the day he and Decker decided to go and check out these people living off the land here, looking into a missing person’s case connected with insurance fraud, without telling anyone else where they were going.

He’d been thinking over the chances of someone from the precinct wandering over here to ask questions and maybe finding him here when Blasius’s giant hands cupped his cheeks and pulled his face forward.

Ryan had been so shocked it took him a half second to realize he

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wasn’t being attacked, not really, and when he did get a hold of  himself, the first thing he did was slam his fist into Blasius’s nose.

Stupid bastard was lucky to be alive after that, and the man with  the scarred face had come in, seen all the blood on the carpet, and had  ordered Ryan to be put into this dog kennel that burned his hands  every time he touched it.

Being inside it was degrading enough if he ignored the fact that  they’d taken most of his clothing away before putting him in here.

He’d been patient the first few days. He’d sat there, thinking of  anything he could do to escape. He’d faked an illness,  and they’d  ignored it. He did the bathroom thing again, and they brought him a  bucket.

Now he was doing the raging against the bars thing. He wanted out. This place was making everything inside of him itch and tingle, and he needed out right now because as of now he knew he was no longer faking the illness thing. Something was definitely wrong with him.

Whether or not it had been these people to do it to him, he wasn’t sure, but Blasius was definitely on his shit list. He was the one to make all those strange marks on Ryan’s skin.

Ryan hated even thinking about the man, but he was all Ryan could think about. His shame, besides being in this place, was that, whenever he did think of him, he usually wound up with an erection.

It was only because he was angry,  he told himself. An erection was normal considering he was filled to the brim with spitting rage and had nowhere to turn it to.

The fact that Blasius kept on coming down here, as naked as Ryan was, and continually telling him that they were mated had nothing to do with it.

If anything, the fact that Ryan was starting to think that maybe there was some truth to Blasius’s words was proof enough that  Stockholm syndrome was starting to take effect.

He needed out. His legs were killing him. This cramped space was

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too much.

He punched at the bars again, and this time they bent a little under the strength of his fists.

Blood also flew out and landed on the concrete floor, but he

barely felt that.

“Let me out of here!” Ryan roared.

After another five minutes of ranting and raging, of punching and  kicking, he was starting to think that he might be able to just break  down the bars that held him in here and get out that way. Then maybe  he could bust that small window that was up there near the ceiling,  and then he could―

Ryan jumped as the door to the basement was flung open so hard the hinges broke.

The door was now only just barely hanging by one of the bent hinges, and in the doorway stood Blasius, his face serious, his muscled body tight and fists clenched.

Ryan could hardly bring himself to be worried about that, or to care about the fact that the guy’s dick was standing at attention or the way Blasius looked at Ryan as though he were a feast.

He didn’t care anymore.

“The full moon is tonight,” Blasius said.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, that brought a fearful chill down Ryan’s spine, and he looked toward the window once more.

“I want…I need… ” He didn’t know what he wanted or what he

needed, other than it involved him getting out of here.

“I know what ye be needin’,” Blasius said, his eyes shining and  accent heavy once more. He stepped farther into the basement. He  picked up the heavy door and propped it in front of the open doorway,  giving them some semblance of privacy.

Ryan’s heart picked up, anticipation running through him as  Blasius turned to look at him. “And I intend to give it to ye, whether  ye be likin’ it or not.”

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Chapter Two

This was not exactly how Blasius would have liked to do this, but considering the full moon was only hours away, and Rhyan had been fighting his first transformation for an ungodly amount of time, there was nothing to be done for it. Their time was out.

There would be no convincing his Rhyan before the transformation came, and he could not have his mate running around like a wild beast. He could hurt himself, or others, or never be seen

again.

Blasius’s only concern was if Rhyan brought harm upon himself  or anyone else in the pack. Everyone else in the world could all go  hang for all he cared for them. The only person he wanted safe and  sound was the man in the cage before him.

It had galled him to have to put his mate inside such a thing,  especially since it was coated with silver, but there was nothing to be  done for it. Rhyan would not stop fighting them, nor would he

remember his dragon clan or that he and Blasius had been mated, and  every day that passed made him more violent.

He stepped farther into the wet-smelling chamber. He did not like  it down here. It reminded him of when he’d been killed. Not the

killing itself. That had been a glorious warrior’s death, and he’d been  glad for it. No, this particular smell had come after, and it had been all  he’d known in the centuries his spirit had wandered the earth.

Then a miracle had happened. He’d come back to life through the  sacrifice of a man wishing to be possessed by the spirits of Romulus  and Remus.

The poor fool had been too presumptuous, and many, many spirits

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had come to take the offering.

Blasius had come out of that battle as the victor, and now he lived

once more. Then another gift had come to him. Rhyan, his lover